Dr Pershing
by megasauruss
Summary: Din Djarin finds him in the sewers. Starving. Beaten. Bloody. On the brink of death. Dr Pershing is trying to figure out why the Mandalorian bothered with him at all.
1. I Protected Him

_"I'm so- so sorry, I didn't mean to alarm-..."_

He cowered.

He seemed to be doing that a lot.

_"I-I protected him! I protected him!"_

He cowered from Imperials and he cowered from those who threatened them.

It seemed cowering was the only thing he was good at.

_"If it wasn't for me he would already be dead!"_

He trembled and stuttered and all he could think about was, oh god, I'm going to die.

Each and every time.

_"Please."_

But each and every time, he was spared. He was safe. He was okay.

Never had he been more afraid, though, never had he been more terrified, in the moment that he threw himself in front of the child. Even as he was shoved aside, he begged, please, don't kill him. He's just a baby. He's just a child. He can't even speak. He doesn't understand.

He was never more afraid than in that moment. But for once he found himself afraid for someone else.

But then it was over. The kid was gone. The Mandalorian left with him. Taken. Their work, gone.

And he would take the brunt of it.

There was no being spared. There were no empty threats. He would be killed. Blasted in the head.

Because why should he live when everyone else died at the hands of the Mandalorian if it were not because he betrayed them?

He ran.

He hid.

He cried.

He bled.

They were out to get him. There was a price on his head. No staying in one location. You have to keep moving. Don't get attached.

(You can't stay with this man. You will get him killed.)

(He died anyway.)

Nevarro was not an option. Not when the troopers took over the town. Not after the Mandalorian covert massacre. But he couldn't leave.

(He made money. Used the money he was paid to pay them not to say anything.)

(It didn't work. They didn't care about him. Only about getting what they wanted.)

(He vomited.)

He couldn't stay and watch the sunset. He couldn't stay in one town for the night. Had to keep moving. Get money from sketchy people. Use the remaining to get enough food to not starve.

Pass out in the woods. Wake up in a cold sweat and a searing pain in his spine.

Didn't stop moving.

He wondered if it would have been better had the Mandalorian had killed him after all.

(He never thought he'd reach such a low point, where he envied those living in poverty but held a roof over their heads.)

(His client smashed his glasses.)

It was his just desserts. It was his karma. He chose to work with the Imperials. He chose the life of a scientist.

Look where it landed him.

Dying. On the streets which he ran away from. Not by the hand of the troopers, but the ribs showing through his skin. The hollowness of his cheekbones. The hypothermia. The sleep deprivation.

(He was so unrecognisable that the troopers didn't pay attention to him.)

(Or perhaps they knew he was fucked either way.)

Despite it all, though. Even as he slipped away, even as his vision darkened and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl, even as he slumped against the wall of the sewers, he didn't regret it.

He didn't regret being afraid for someone other than himself, for once. Even if it cost him his life.

* * *

When you die, it's a generally accepted fact that you don't wake up.

When he woke up, though, he was warm. Not hot. Just comfortable. Content. The best he'd felt in... well, he lost track of time.

He thought to himself, that if this was the afterlife, he rather liked it. But then his senses filtered in, and he realised with a start: he was not dead.

He was laying on a soft surface. His hair was no longer pooled around his shoulders, his beard no longer scratched at his neck. There was no longer a searing pain in his stomach or his spine. The wounds no longer stung.

His fingers twitched as he awoke. The darkness filtered away and he could see light through his eyelids. He breathed. The rattling in his chest was gone.

It was an easy conclusion. He was in a hospital.

He felt the presence of someone at his side. They did not talk or move, only breathe.

He didn't know how, but eventually, he pried his eyes open. They burned like they were on fire, but he didn't close them - he would not give up.

"Where-" such a weak voice. "Where am-" then again, that's always been the case.

He couldn't finish the sentence, though. A gloved hand suddenly grasped his arm. But it was gentle. It did not startle him.

"You're awake," came a low, modulated voice. It was him.

He didn't respond. He wasn't sure he could.

"I'm sorry."

_You have nothing to apologise for._

"It's my fault you turned out this way."

He closed his eyes again. The pain was too much. He was so tired.

"If I had known..."

_You couldn't have helped. It's okay._

"You protected him. You protected the kid. I can't thank you enough. He's okay because of you."

It was all he ever needed to hear. That the child was safe. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he opened them once more.

A silver helmet looked down upon him, blocking out the light situated above his head.

A tear ran down the side of his face.

"I'm... sorry," he rasped. And he was. He really was.

"You don't have to apologise for anything."

Except he did. He was a part of this. He was working with the Imperials.

He could have left at any time. But he didn't.

The Mandalorian's helmet was the last thing he saw before he fell back into unconsciousness.

* * *

He didn't know what time it was. The lights were off, and the air was cold.

Pershing, with all the strength he could muster, hoisted himself up so that his back was against the bed rest. It made his head spin, for a moment, before his vision returned to him.

He allowed his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness.

The Mandalorian was still in the room, but he was unmoving and hunched in a chair. Asleep. Something was huddled close to his chest, something breathing and alive. The child.

If it weren't for the situation, he would have found it incredibly adorable. To think he was afraid for the child's life when all the Mandalorian wanted to do was protect it.

He looked down at himself. A needle was stuck in his arm, feeding nutrients and water. It seemed they hadn't given him a nasogastric tube just yet.

Even in the darkness of the room, now that all the dirt and grime had been washed away, he could see how pale he'd become. And how frighteningly skinny. He never had much body fat in the first place, he was surprised he hadn't died of starvation earlier.

The bundle in the Mandalorian's arms stirred. He watched with bated breath as the child turned his head, slowly, cautiously. Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," Pershing rasped. "I'm so sorry."

The baby shifted out of the Mandalorian's grip, landing with surprising grace on the cold floor of the hospital room.

"You didn't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry."

He watched the child as it shuffled to his bedside, stopping at the edge of the bed to look up with curious eyes.

The tears welled up in Pershing's eyes. All the pain and trauma and overwhelming guilt hitting him like a tidal wave. The tears fell onto the floor below him. "I can see why he didn't want to harm you," he spoke in a broken voice. "You're so cute." A broken sob escaped him. "I'm so so sorry."

"I told you you didn't have anything to apologise for." The Mandalorian sat upright in the chair. His helmet tilted side to side as he stretched.

"I hurt him."

"You protected him."

"He was crying and he was afraid. I gave him a needle to force him to sleep. I hurt him."

The Mandalorian fell quiet. But it was not an angry silence. It was not judgemental. Pershing watched as he trudged over, leaning down to pick up the child. As he did so he did not break eye-contact.

(Or, at least, that's what Pershing imagined - since he couldn't actually see the Mandalorian's eyes. He'd still like to imagine he was looking into them.)

He decided to break the silence. "How long have I been unconscious for?"

"It's been a day since you last woke up."

"I don't remember waking up."

The Mandalorian gave him a look. It was incredible how one man could portray so much emotion with a helmet covering his face. "You apologised, and I told you you didn't have to apologise. And then you fell back asleep."

"I don't remember. I must've been out of it."

The Mandalorian didn't respond. The child cooed as he settled back into the chair. "Yeah."

"What about before then? The last thing I remember is... the, the sewers."

"You were unconscious for two days."

"I see."

He spared another glance down at the tubes feeding into him. He wanted nothing more than to eat real, solid foods, but he knew the consequences. He had a feeling he'd be having soup for a while.

"Why did you stay?" he asked. He turned his gaze back up to the Mandalorian.

"What?"

"I've been... I've been here for three days. And you've been here the entire time."

"That's correct."

"But why?"

For this, it seemed, the Mandalorian didn't have an answer. Even with the helmet, confusion was written across him in bold red pen. "I... don't understand."

"You could have left by now. With the child. You could be far away from here. You don't need to care about me of, of all people..." he trailed off, averting his gaze to his lap. He fiddled with a loose string on the hospital gown.

There was no answer, and if it weren't for the shadow, he would have thought they'd left.

It was then that the door swung open, and a nurse entered into the room. She cried, "Oh!" before leaving the room as quick as she'd come.

"Interesting." He sighed. He supposed it was a shock to her that he was awake, after nearly dying of starvation. Or...

"Did I die?"

The Mandalorian looked over in surprise. "Not that I know of. When we found you you were breathing. Which is why I took you to the hospital."

"You brought me here?... thank you."

"I couldn't just leave you."

"Still. You didn't have to do that, I... I work for the Empire. Nothing will change that."

"As far as I'm aware you were being _hunted _by those Imps. I don't think you work for them anymore."

Pershing shrugged. "Being hunted comes with the job description." It would have been funny had the circumstances been different.

"Same for us," the Mandalorian sighed.

Just as Pershing opened his mouth to reply, the nurse reentered with another nurse on toe. A male twi'lek.

The light flickered on.

"You're awake," the Twi'lek nurse said, rushing over to check the nutrients. "We weren't expecting that for another day or so."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises." He chuckled. The nurses did not.

"We're going to have a Doctor come check your vitals. Take your blood. Since you're, well... since you seem to be up and ready to go, you should be able to leave within the week."

Within a week? He was shocked, but he supposed it made sense. It's not like he was injured. Physically at least. Just mentally.

How funny.

The human nurse left, leaving the Twi'lek to fuss over the equipment. The nurse got increasingly closer, encroaching on Pershing's personal space. As he did so, there was a sweet aroma emanating from his neck like he'd had coffee beans poured down on top of him. The lekku grazed his shoulder and, despite himself, he felt his heart rate quicken and his face flush a violent scarlet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Mandalorian shift in his seat. He imagined him with a raised eyebrow.

Finally, the nurse moved away, and he could breathe again.

"The doctor will be here in just a moment." And he left.

The Mandalorian (thank god), didn't pry into what had just occurred. That or he was just not paying attention - to which he would have been incredibly grateful. But that would have been lucky and Pershing was not a lucky man. Luck all but abandoned him as soon as he took the job and title as Imperial Scientist.

The child made a cooing noise, and the Mandalorian seemed to know what it meant. "He's hungry. Do you mind if I-?"

"Not at all."

"Okay."

"Wait-"

The Mandalorian paused in the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder back at Pershing.

"What does he eat?"

The child cooed again. The Mandalorian shrugged. "He's a carnivore. One time he swallowed a full frog, in one go. It was..."

"Oh, no! Oh no oh no oh no. He swallowed an entire frog whole? Children don't have a concept of what's poisonous and what isn't, and- and goodness, an entire frog? Without even chewing? It could have catastrophic consequences on his digestive system, how long has it been since he-?"

"He's fine."

The low, modulated voice calmed him down immediately. A chill ran down his spine, and he shivered.

"It's been well over a month. I've done enough holding him over the vactube as he makes direct eye-contact to know that he's fine."

"Oh, but..."

"He's fine."

"If that frog was poisonous he would be dead!" he snapped. He knew immediately that he'd overstepped his boundaries when the Mandalorian shifted his stance. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't aiming to imply that you-"

The Mandalorian stared as Pershing trailed off. He glared down at his lap in shame. His entire life had been leading up to this moment. Every decision only brought him to this. This was his lowest of lows. He couldn't ever be forgiven.

"You're right."

"What?"

"You're right. I need to monitor what he eats. I haven't had much time to think about it. Being hunted will do that- stop trying to make yourself look small."

He hadn't realised he was doing it. "Sorry."

"No need."

The child cooed once more, and the Mandalorian sighed. "I'll go get him some food."

Pershing watched them leave, and suddenly found himself wishing they hadn't. It's not like he had anything else to do in his small little hospital room. But he wasn't in wretched silence for long, as only a couple minutes after the Mandalorian and the child left, an Arkanian doctor entered the room with a clipboard.

"It's good to see you awake," she said. "We weren't expecting it for another day or so, but you seem to have recovered quickly."

"I'm full of surprises," he repeated his joke from earlier, but this time, he didn't laugh. The Doctor ignored it.

"How long were you on the streets for?"

The question embarrassed and mocked him. But it was fair so he supposed he had to answer. "A bit over a month."

"How much did you eat during that time period?"

"Close to nothing." He stared down at his arms. A wave of emotion rushed over him, but he did his best to conceal it.

"What about water?"

He shrugged.

The Doctor sat down on the bed. He felt the weight shift. "What was your source of income?"

She stared at him with a knowing eye.

He didn't answer and he didn't need to.

She wrote something down on her clipboard with a sigh. "You should be able to leave within a week. Until then we're going to closely monitor you. Try not to move around too much, and you're not to eat solid foods until you're dismissed."

His heart ached. No phrase in the entire universe could have ever caused so much pain. _You're not to eat solid foods. _How he yearned for the crunch of an apple.

It truly felt like his world was crumbling around him.

"Don't look at me like that," the Doctor sighed again. "You're a scientist, right? You know what'll happen if you eat too much too quickly."

"Yes, I- I know."

"Then you won't have any issues with it." She abruptly stood from the bed, and there was another abrupt shift in weight.

Ah yes, the arrogance of the Arkanians rivals no other. She radiated superiority complex. "Sorry."

She gave him a condescending look - probably intentional, knowing their species - before leaving, the door slamming behind her with a bang.

He was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of fatigue. He knew it would be a while since the Mandalorian returned, so... he slipped back down so that he was on his back, resting his head against the pillow. He allowed himself to stare at the ceiling for a moment, before he slipped into another deep sleep.

The next time he woke up, the lights were still on, but he guessed it had been a couple of hours. He was disappointed to find that the Mandalorian was not in the room, and neither was the child... but he shook the disappointment away immediately. The Mandalorian didn't have any obligation towards him.

_He's probably left already. He knows you're fine now. Why would he waste time staying with you?_

The door pushed open, and for a moment he had a smidgen of hope, but it was just the twi'lek nurse from before. And, well, while he didn't complain, necessarily, considering the alluring properties that this nurse possessed...

"You're awake again, good." He was holding a plastic tray, and situated on it was a small glass of water and a bowl of soup. "I was worried I'd have to wake you myself," he chuckled.

Pershing's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah."

"Don't want to deal with a grumpy patient."

"Yeah..."

The soup smelled nice, and he was sure it tasted wonderful, but he still yearned for something to actually chew. Alas. He knew the risks. Refeeding syndrome wasn't to be taken lightly. Soup it was, he supposed.

"I understand Dr Alva visited you earlier today. I'd like to apologise for her attitude." The twi'lek took an elongated gaze at Pershing's eyes. It's as though they were frozen in time.

The twi'lek was so young. He was round-faced and wide-eyed. So naive.

"The- the Arkanian? Yeah, she..."

"She's brash. You can say it, everyone knows it."

"Yeah."

The doe-eyes of the twi'lek lingered for another moment before the nurse turned away. At this point, Pershing felt his entire face was on fire.

He averted his gaze to the soup and picked up the spoon.

"My name's Jad'futi, by the way. I don't believe I caught yours."

Now the twi'lek was sitting in the chair that the Mandalorian had previously occupied. "Oh," Pershing tried to swallow the knot in his throat away. It did not go away. "Don't you have a record?"

There was a flash of disappointment on Jad'futi's face. "I thought I could ask you." He smiled widely.

_Ah. _Pershing thought. _I see. _Maybe if circumstances were different, he would have given into it. Maybe if he wasn't bedridden and out of his mind with anxiety. "I'm... I'm too old for you."

This time the twi'lek actually frowned. "You don't even know how old I am."

"Not old enough."

"I'm seventeen!"

Pershing blanched. "You- you- that's even _worse!_" he spluttered. "That's! You're not even-"

"I'm an adult! The twi'leks come of age at sixteen, so it's fine... right?"

He stared back down at the soup. He could see his flushed reflection on the wavy surface. "That's not it, I know that... it's just, I'm more than double your age..."

There was a long stretch of silence, then a surrendering sigh. "Alright. I respect that. Technically I'm not allowed to date you anyway," he chuckled.

Pershing glanced back up. Jad'futi was staring at the opposing wall with a furrowed brow. Or at least, as furrowed of a brow as you could get when you didn't have eyebrows. "How long have you been a nurse for?" Pershing asked.

"A little over a standard year, sir."

He winced at the sudden title. He wished (not for the first time) that twi'leks weren't so naturally beautiful. "But if your species reaches adulthood at sixteen, you... how long have you been studying for?"

It had taken Pershing _years _to gain his title, even with his increased intelligence - if you'd pardon the modesty.

"My whole family has been in the medical field," they met eyes again, "so they started me young."

"Didn't you want to do anything else...?"

Jad'futi seemed to think for a moment. His gaze averted to the floor. "I've been fascinated by the New Republic ever since it was established. But- but my parents would never have allowed me to join, too dangerous they said..."

"Your parents are right."

"I know..."

"But I think you should go for it."

Jad'futi stared. He blinked. "I couldn't possibly."

"I thought the same way about becoming a scientist," Pershing smiled wistfully. "Now twenty years down the road I-" _work for the Imperials, _"-have my dream job." _Not anymore, you moron._

_At least this kid isn't in danger of accidentally working for the Empire. _But there were so many more dangers. X-Wing being blown up. Having a run-in with storm-troopers. Mission going wrong.

"I don't know... it took me so long to become a nurse. I'm not as strong-willed or smart as everyone else in my family. And my family says that, that I _have _to be a nurse. Because everyone else is. I can't just abandon that."

"If you're an adult, then you can do whatever the hell you want."

Jad'futi raised his brow-less eyebrows. Before he could refute, though, the door pushed open, and in came the Mandalorian, the child tucked safely in his arms.

"...am I interrupting?" came the low modulated voice.

"I-I was just leaving!" Jad'futi stood abruptly from the seat, causing the chair to screech against the stone flooring. "I'll go now. Um, thanks for the talk."

With that, the twi'lek, with incredible speed and absolutely no grace, flung himself out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

The Mandalorian gave him a Look. Pershing shrugged, then finally took a sip of the soup he'd been brought. It was nice - and he would have expressed this had his tongue not just been burnt on the spoon.

"Ow."

"Hot?"

"A bit."

The child made a gurgling noise, then giggled. "Ow!"

Both Pershing and the Mandalorian had been stunned into silence. They both stared down at the little green baby.

"That was... you, right?" said the Mandalorian.

"No... it wasn't you...?" They both continued to stare. The child bore a large grin, like he knew the exact significance of what he'd just done. "Was that his-?"

"Yeah."

"His first word?"

"Yeah."

The child cooed and bounced in the Mandalorian's lap. He definitely knew the significance, and he was proud of it.

"You should get him a treat."

The Mandalorian looked up at him. "A treat?"

"Something nice. Like new _clothes _for starters," he sighed. "He's wearing the exact same thing as when I last saw him."

"I haven't put much thought into it."

"Yeah, I can tell." There was a prolonged silence. Pershing took another sip of the soup, but it was still too hot. He seethed. "You'd think hospitals wouldn't serve their soup piping hot to bedridden patients. Oh," a sudden thought popped into his head, "What planet is this? There aren't any hospitals like this one on Nevarro."

The Mandalorian shifted, like he was unsure of himself. "We're on Obroa-skai."

Pershing nearly choked on his own spit. "What?" he croaked. "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be here?"

"As far as I know they have no idea you worked for the Empire."

"But... my patch!"

"They didn't see it."

"But-?"

"They didn't see it."

They stared at each other. He couldn't see it, but he felt the Mandalorian's eyes burning into his skull. There was something there, stirring between them; but he couldn't quite place it...

"Mandalorian... um, how should I address you?"

"Mando is fine."

"Mando, then. If... if the people on this planet find out who I am, I'm... excuse my language, but I'm fucked."

"This medical facility houses all variations of alien life." He gave Pershing a pointed look as if to say, please don't swear in front of the child. "Even if they knew, they wouldn't turn up their nose."

"This planet is the _stronghold _of the New Republic. If I were anyone else..."

"Well, you're _not _anyone else." There was a certain bite to Mando's words, but they were still low and soft-spoken. Like he hadn't intended to snap.

Pershing hesitated. "You... you have no reason to trust me."

It baffled him. He worked with the Empire, willingly. He gave his life to them. Dedicated every day to be the best he could be, fought against the Rebellion, made gadgets for the troopers. Improved their tie-fighters. Spent twelve years slaving his life away for the Imperials.

And yet, this Mandalorian took one look at him, even knowing what he was, what he'd done, he took one look and decided he was trustworthy.

Why?

If he had anything other than good intentions, that child would be dead. Or the Imperials would have been hailed.

"You're right." Mando stared at the far wall. "I have no reason to trust you. You hurt the child - _my _child. You wore that symbol with pride on your shoulder, you stood tall next to the client."

"Yes. I-..." _I'm sorry. _Is that what he wanted to say? There was no use in it now.

"The Empire has caused nothing but pain. They've brought genocide upon my people. They took happiness and they tore it to shreds. They killed Kuiil, they tried to kill the child." The helmet turned. Pershing refused to look up at it. He refused to look the Mandalorian in the eyes. "I have no idea why I decided to trust you. I have no idea why I wanted to stay and make sure you were alright."

Drowning himself in the soup suddenly sounded appealing. "I'm sorry," he sniffed.

"I just knew I didn't want anyone else to die."

"Well, I'm fine now. So... I won't hold it against you if - not that I ever would, of course - I won't hold it against you if you want to leave now."

There was a long stretch of silence.

And then more silence.

Then even more.

It was deafening. It was suffocating. Pershing's heartrate quickened and his throat tightened and his fists clenched. The soup lay forgotten on the tray, and the tray quivered as his knee involuntarily shook.

He'd always hated silence. Always hated the fear that came along with it. The pure anxiety that washed over him, as his mind raced, thinking about everything and anything that could go wrong.

_What's he thinking? Why isn't he saying anything? Should I never have spoken? _

_He's thinking he should have just left me for dead. Maybe it would have been better off._

_Am I annoying? Am I too shy? Does he think I'm weak?_

_Maybe I am weak._

_I'm a coward._

There never was an answer. When the Mandalorian left the room, the child with him, Pershing expected that the tension in his shoulders and the quickening of breath would fade. But they didn't.

He wished in those moments that please, somebody, just _help me. Save me from this. I can't control it. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't want to be a coward. I don't want to be weak. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to live._

Even, though, as these thoughts raced through his mind, and even though he willed it, he couldn't cry. His shoulders shook and his breathing hollowed out, the heart rate monitor beeped wildly and five nurses came in with defibrillators, only to discover him in the midst of a mental breakdown, and _not _cardiac arrest - but even so, he couldn't cry.

And, an hour later, when he heard the sound of the Mandalorian's ship taking off, he didn't feel a thing.


	2. I Saved Him

He was...

Well. Din didn't know how to describe him.

Jumpy, anxious, weak. But intelligent, and witty. When he was thinking he furrowed at his lower lip. When he was confused his eyebrows drew in. When he was afraid his eyes would widen and his lip would quiver. When he saw the child it's like all of his worries visibly melted away.

When he slept, he was peaceful, but awake, he was anything but.

Restless. Radiating with energy. Needing to do something at all times because if he didn't, he would collapse into his own thoughts.

Din had met many people like him. And yet, he was still incredibly unique. There was something there, something was developing between them. But he had no idea what it was. How long have they known each other? Barely a few days. Sure they met about a month ago before everything went to shit but it was in brief passing and, at the time, the doctor hadn't really caught his eye.

The child cooed in his lap, and he sighed. "I know. I just wanted to get out. Staying in that place makes me sick."

He'd developed a habit of talking to the child, even though he wasn't even sure he was being understood. The child would only coo in response, but he supposed that was good enough.

He cooed again, though, and this time it had a different tone, as if to say, 'I want to go back.'

"We will go back. I promise. There's something I want to do first."

The doctor - Pershing, wasn't it? - had this certain aura about him. He never spoke his mind, but there always seemed to be something racing in that head of his. Din tried to read him, figure out what he was really thinking, but he couldn't.

The doctor was kind, and sorrowful, and depressed. He worried about everything. But he was quick-witted and could hold a conversation for as long as he wanted. When he spoke, Din found it impossible to look away. His hands flapped wildly like he was passionate about every word and, he probably was.

He'd never forget how Pershing's expression fell, or how the heart rate on the monitor picked up speed when Din talked about the pain the Empire had caused. And how the words on the tip of his seemed to tongue leave him, and all he could say was that he was _sorry. _He was _sorry. _He was so so _sorry._

Pershing would apologise relentlessly for working for the Imps, but Din would still tell him it was okay - but he didn't know why, and that frustrated him.

Of course it wasn't okay. None of it was okay. Pershing was imperial, he would always be imperial. So why was Din even bothering? Because of pity? Sympathy?

He found him in the sewers, starving. Beaten. Bloody. On the brink of death. He should've just left him, so why didn't he? Why did he take one look and decide to help? Why did he ignore Cara when she told him to leave the doctor alone? Why couldn't he just listen to other people for once?

There was something about him. Something about this doctor that he couldn't put into words.

He was good with the child, and the child liked him, too. Even though he had every reason not to. Surely if something was wrong, the child would feel it?

Pershing recoiled when Din got too close. He would flinch away, something would flash in his eyes, like he was afraid of being touched. Every time Din caught a glimpse of it his blood would boil. _No one deserves that._

But he had no reason to care about that. He never worried about his bounties, never felt sympathy for their sob story, so why should he care about some imp?

_I don't know._

Maybe it was because the child cried when he saw the broken body slumped against the wall. That could be his excuse.

The hyperspace came to an abrupt halt. Silversisi faded into view as the Razor Crest grew closer. The child looked up at him apprehensively.

"I know. We won't be here for long. I just want to pick up some things."

The Razor Crest landed not-so-gracefully on Silversisi's surface, just outside the library. He really needed to get the ship fixed. Properly.

"You coming too?" He cast a glance at the child. He took the blank stare as an affirmative. "Okay then."

He picked up the child in his arms, so he wouldn't have to walk, and waited for him to get comfortable before setting off.

He'd been at the Library of Silversisi once before, but it was for a bounty, so he didn't have time to actually stop and read. Especially considering how pissy the security was getting with the scene being caused.

He reached the front door, pushing it open with one hand. It was heavy and large, but he managed to squeeze through. The door slammed behind him, causing an echo throughout the halls of the library.

"Oi!"

Ah.

"I hope you're not here to cause more of a mess, Djarin." The zabrak stood tall over him, arms crossed over his chest. He would have been intimidating, but the round glasses perched on his nose and the tight-fitted vest didn't necessarily do him any favours.

"Just here for some books, Tudua." Din titled his head. "This time."

"Any funny business and you're out, clear?"

"Crystal." He adjusted his grip on the child, who made an unintelligible noise. Tudua's eyes passed over it briefly.

"What's that?" he asked in a monotone voice. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment.

"My son."

"A foundling?"

Din stared up at him for a moment.

Tudua had been a Mandalorian, and their paths had crossed on multiple occasions when they were younger. Mere years after Tudua swore to the creed, however, he abandoned it to chase after a human he'd fallen deeply in love with.

That relationship hadn't worked out, though; the woman cheated on him with a twi'lek man then died in childbirth, so he was being forced to raise a half-twi'lek son that he hadn't wanted in the first place. Now he spent most of his days in the Library of Silversisi as an honourary librarian.

"Yes, a foundling."

"I've seen that species before."

Din took a mental step back. He stared a moment before clearing his throat. "What is it?"

Tudua only shrugged. "Don't know." Before Din could ask him to please elaborate, the zabrak was walking away with his hands in his pockets, whistling some unknown tune.

_Fat load of good that was._

Din sighed, before placing the child onto the cool wooden flooring. "Come on. Let's go find what we're looking for."

It wasn't difficult to locate the section he'd been wanting. Most libraries were filled to the brim on science, it being the very core of how the galaxy operated. He skimmed through the books, tilting his head slightly to read the titles etched on the sides.

He'd always liked physical books, made of paper and everything. Electronic ones were convenient but there was something about turning the delicate pages of old books or blowing the dust off their covers.

He picked out a small selection of things that caught his eye. With a small stack about the size of the child, he marched up to the receptionist desk, where Tudua was flipping through a book on _parenting _of all things.

"How's your son?" he asked as he plopped down the books. They made a loud bang, but Tudua didn't jump or even look up from the book.

"The same." Without even looking, Tudua picked up each book one by one and scanned them with incredible accuracy. Before long, the entire selection was accounted for. "If you don't get these back to me within a month I'll hire someone from that bounty guild of yours to personally hunt you down."

"You'll have to wait in line." He would have winked, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because it wouldn't be seen through the visor - even if Tudua was actually paying attention.

"And how about your son?"

Tudua finally looked up from the book, just to peer down at the child. There was a faint hint of a smile, but perhaps he was imagining things.

"I don't know the first thing about being a father. But he's fine."

Tudua chuckled bitterly. "You and me both. Receipt?"

"No."

"Didn't take you for the science type."

"They're not for me, they're for..." a friend? An acquaintance? An enemy? "...someone else."

"Mm." Tudua gave him a receipt anyway. "One month, Djarin."

"Don't worry." He tucked the stack under his arm and picked up the child with the other. "I'll return them even if I die. Then I'll haunt you forever as a ghost."

"_God, _please don't. I'd kill myself."

"Ghost buddies."

"Just fuck off, Djarin."

As aggressive as their banter was, and Tudua's irritating insistence of using his real name, they were friends. Or at least, Din liked to think that they were. Tudua was hostile by nature, especially after the cheating and subsequential death of the love of his life - but he was the only person Din felt he could actually trust with important information. He might've been an angry bitter bastard, but he was loyal and kind at heart.

Soon enough they returned to the Razor Crest and set off onto their journey back to Obroa-skai. As the ship launched into hyperspace Din leaned back into the pilot's seat with an exasperated sigh.

The journey back felt twice as long as the journey _from, _and he wasn't sure why. It was almost like he was nervous - even though he'd no reason to be.

He merely wanted to grab some books for the doctor so he wouldn't get bored. But the more he thought about it the more he wondered if it was a good idea. Especially after leaving in such an abrupt manner.

The child looked up at him with those wide eyes, like he knew something was off.

"I'm fine," Din reassured him. And he was. Just... confused. Doctor Pershing confused him.

The overwhelming concern that enveloped him when he looked at Pershing's timid structure confused him. The rage that filled him when Pershing flinched away from the slightest of touches or winced at the smallest of movements confused him. The strange feeling developing in his chest confused him.

It made him feel young, which was saying a fucking lot. It made him feel sad yet also happy. It was like a blaster shot him in the heart with affection. Hurt like a bitch but he welcomed it.

He willed it to go away. But it persisted. The strange feeling.

He would ignore it, then. But that was so hard. He had never had difficulties getting someone out of his mind before - except for the child, but the child was _his _child, so that was understandable.

The doctor was an imperial scientist.

And yet, he had this strange ethereal effect.

Slowly, Obroa-skai faded back into view, and Din was pulled out of his thoughts. He couldn't be like this around the doctor.

The razor crest landed with a groan on the lush green grass just outside the hospital's doors. He grabbed the books in one hand before descending down the ramp, where he was met with one of the ugnaught employees.

"We didn't think you were coming back," he spoke with a thick accent. "We haven't been able to calm door Peri down for hours."

"Peri?"

The ugnaught quickened his steps to keep up with Din's long stride. "Young Mr Pershing, of course. He-"

Din suddenly stopped.

Had Pershing - or Peri, he supposed - thought he was leaving for good? He never intended for it to seem that way. Should he have told him what he was doing?

The ugnaught slammed into his legs with an oof. The child giggled.

"He's okay?" Din turned to stare down at the ugnaught, who was rubbing his nose.

"Well, he's fine _now, _sir. I can't say the same for our staff."

"What happened?"

"Threw a fit. Or that's what Doctor Avry said. I prefer to call it a psychological mishap. Less _offensive._"

Din turned back around and continued walking, readjusting his grip on the books. "I take it Doctor Avry isn't well respected."

"Oh, she's respected. But she's Arkanian."

That explained it.

The ugnaught held the door open for him and he stepped inside with a grateful nod. The child followed soon after. He made a beeline for Pershing's room, but a human nurse stepped in front him with her arms outstretched.

"He's asleep right now," she said softly, "you'll have to wait."

"I'm the one who brought him here." Din straightened his back. "I've been staying with him while he sleeps."

The nurse seemed to consider this. Her eyes darted to the child waddling up behind Din before she sighed and relented. "If you wake him up..."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He gently pushed the door open, catching it just as it began to creak. All of the lights were off, but he could see the faint outline of Pershing sleeping on his side, curled up into a ball.

As silently as he could manage he placed the books on the bedside table. The child pawed at his leg. "Come here," he whispered, picking the child up to hold him in both of his hands. "I know you don't like it, but you have to be quiet."

Maybe the child did understand words after all, because he didn't make a single noise in the next two hours.

Unfortunately, that meant he was _restless. _And... truthfully, Din was restless too. He hated staying in the same spot. He'd always been on the move, switching from job to job to job - it was his lifestyle. But he wanted to be there when Pershing woke up, to explain that he wouldn't just... abandon him.

Even though he couldn't understand why that was. If it were anyone else he would have dropped them off at the hospital and left.

Why was this man any different? This imp? Someone who'd slaved their life away for an empire that only inspired hatred and war. How could such a man be so kind and thoughtful? And why - _why _\- did Din want to help him so much?

Why couldn't he identify the feeling in his chest? Why couldn't he tear his eyes away? Why did he focus on the details, like how Pershing would fidget with loose strings? Or how he'd wrung his hands together when he was anxious?

He hated it, he hated all of it. So why wasn't he making an effort to stop?

Another hour went by, and though he'd tried to doze off, the child was too agitated. He wanted to get out and move, stretch his legs... there was a garden, but going meant leaving Pershing alone. Which he was averse to.

At that moment though, the light flickered on, and the twi'lek nurse entered into the room.

"Oh," said the nurse. "I didn't realise you were..."

"Should I leave?"

The nurse cast an awkward glance over to Pershing, who was beginning to stir from the sudden light. "No, I was just going to replace his drip."

Din had noticed it was running low. It only made sense. But even so, when the twi'lek got close, he felt the sudden urge to shove him away, to keep him at bay.

He clenched his fists. _He's doing his job. He's helping. Why are you acting like this? _He still remembered the way Pershing flushed when the twi'lek got too close. He remembered wanting to reach over and slap him. _Don't you know what he's been through? What are you doing? You're too close. Stay away from him._

But why? Why did he feel so strongly about it?

It was stupid. It wasn't like - it wasn't like he _ever _went through what Pershing did. It wasn't like he had any particular reason to feel so angry about it. Yes, it was terrible, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but...

And then there was another conflicting emotion that he just couldn't understand. _Jealousy. _At least he could identify it but - but it made no sense. What reason would he have to be jealous?

There wasn't one. It was irrational. Clearly he just needed to clear his head. The fuss of the last month was catching up to him, that's all it was.

Din lifted the child onto the floor and stood from his seat. "Let's go stretch your legs, little womprat." He held the door open for the child to pass through, closing it behind him just as Pershing began to open his eyes. 

* * *

The garden was peaceful. It reminded Din of Sorgen, just without the neon-blue krill, and the large knee-deep ponds. The flowers' scent was so powerful it wafted up through his helmet, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. This had been exactly what he needed.

The child was enticed with the flowers, and probably the smell, and seemed to sift through them like he was looking for something possibly frog-shaped. For the sake of the garden, Din hoped there weren't any.

He sat down on one of the benches. The garden was small and narrow, but large enough for a couple of children to run around in - which was probably the idea. He almost wished he could take off the helmet for a while, bathe in the sunlight and the pleasant breeze - then quickly shook that notion away.

Not even the child had seen him without his helmet. Technically it was allowed, the child was his son now, a foundling. But...

He would think on it later.

His moment of alone time was disturbed by the doors abruptly sliding open. Immediately, he jumped up from his seat and his hand shot to where his blaster rested, but it was only an old espirion man being wheeled out by a nurse.

"A Mandalorian!" the old man exclaimed in a croaky voice. His back was hunched and he was riddled with old age, but still bore a large smile on his face. "I have never seen one before!"

_I'll never get used to that, _Din thought as the old man wheeled himself over. The nurse stood in the corner with her hands behind her back.

"Hello, young man." The espirion held out a shaky hand. Din shook it as lightly as he could, but then the old man's grip became suddenly very tight. "It is an honour to meet a Mandalorian in the flesh."

"The honour is mine." He hoped his discomfort didn't show through his modulated voice. If the old man noticed, he didn't say anything.

"And who is this little one?"

The child was now waddling over with a small assortment of flowers and leaves clutched in his hand. It cooed.

"My son."

"Does he have a name?" The old man reached over to pat the child on the head.

"I'm... yet to give him one."

It hadn't been something he'd put much thought into. He admitted, though, it was getting repetitive, calling it "the child" or "the baby" or "my son" or "ad'ika"... though that one was usually only in private.

The old man hummed, before leaning back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. "He is adopted."

"Yes."

"I have seen one like him before."

Din turned his head slightly so he was facing the man. "You know his species?"

"The species? Goodness, no, Master Yoda was one of very few and I only ever _saw _him from afar so I never had the opportunity to ask..."

Din's eyes widened under the helmet. " 'Master Yoda' ?"

"Oh, yes... let me tell you something about _him_..."

Din never got to find out what he was, though, because just then the nurse strolled over to interrupt. "You should come back inside," she spoke with a thick accent.

"But I was just telling this young man about-"

"You can tell him later, you have to have your medicine, okay, Druan?"

She shot an apologetic glance back towards Din as she wheeled Druan away, as though the old man was being at all bothersome. That could have been vital information! Din would have to find the man before he left.

Not too soon later, the nurse re-entered the garden, but without Druan. "I am sorry about that," she sighed as she patted down her dress. "He is... his mind has gone. He thinks there are people who can lift things with their mind and it is a mess."

_An order of sorcerers called Jedi. _The Armourer's words rang in his ears. As if on cue the child tugged at his leg plate, holding out his hands as a universal expression for "up".

Druan knew about the sorcerers. _Better yet, _he knew about someone who could be related to the child. Was this Master Yoda also one of those 'Jedi'? How is it that no one knows about them? How had such a powerful race become merely myth and legend?

He placed the child on his lap, who shifted a bit, before finding a spot that was comfortable. "What does he say about them?" Din asked. The nurse sighed like she'd heard about it one too many times.

"That they are all dead. And yet he claims to have met them. It makes no sense." She cast a glance around at the garden before sighing once more. "I must go. But it was a pleasure meeting you."

_Pleasure. _"Yeah."

Even though this new information was incredible news, something in Din's heart stung. He wasn't ready to give up the child. Especially not to an enemy race. Not so soon. Preferably not _ever, _but... _this is The Way._

Mandalorian culture consisted of two very important things: armour and children. The foundlings were the future. Protect the children at all costs - whatever it takes - even if it took the lives of elders. Deep down he knew that giving the child to these sorcerers was the right thing to do, but that didn't ease the hurt.

The child was his _son. _The Armourer said as much. They were a clan of two, and Din bore the signet to prove it. How could he possibly give his son away?

Besides, what if the child didn't want to go with these sorcerers? Or what if the sorcerers rejected him? What if Din accidentally stirred up an age-old war, thus dooming the Mandalorians to extinction?

Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. That's what Cara would have told him, with a slap on the back.

Who was to say the Jedi even existed anymore, anyway. Clearly they haven't been seen or even heard of for decades upon decades - since no one seemed to know who they were, or those that do know of them are regarded as one who believes in myths and legends.

Then again, the Mandalorians were becoming somewhat of a myth themselves. At least, that was before they revealed themselves on Nevarro...

The thought lingered in his mind.

The sight had made him sick, and thinking about it now only did the same. Those discarded helmets. Blood staining the floors. The thought that his entire clan might've been killed. His family. Even as they lowly regarded him, he would still find himself with a soft spot for them. Even Paz.

Paz wouldn't hesitate to call him a _hu'tuun. _Or _aruetyc. _Even if he hadn't technically done anything wrong.

He would then proceed to save Din from the Guild, thus revealing the covert, and getting himself fucking killed. _That was his helmet._

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the child began waving and cooing at someone by the doorway.

"I-I thought you left," came a familiar, soft voice.

Pershing.

He was still dressed in the hospital gown, but it was tucked into a pair of grey pants. It was an odd sight to behold, especially within the serene confines of the garden. Yet, somehow, the loose shirt paired with the tight pants wasn't off-putting.

"I did. But then I came back. Did you like the books?"

"Um." Pershing stared at his hands with the intent of a thousand fiery suns. If Din didn't know any better he'd say the doctor was angry, but he was probably just thinking really hard. "Yes, they're... you got them for me?"

The doctor finally looked up, and they locked eyes. A strange feeling shot through Din's chest. "Yes. I thought you might want something to read while you're stuck here. I do have to return them eventually, though, so make sure you don't let your science side take over and scribble notes on every page."

Shockingly, Pershing actually cracked a nervous smile, which... made Din _happy, _even if the smile was gone as quick as it came. "I'll make sure they're as pristine as the day they left the library. Where did you...?"

"Silversisi."

"But! But that's... at _least _a two-hour journey from here, even with the fastest hyper-space! You travelled for four hours and then-some just to get me some books? I-I'm sure I would have managed, really..."

It made no sense. It baffled Din, how the doctor would shy away from people who were trying to be nice. It was as if he believed he didn't deserve it.

...then again, he was _Imperial._

Din decided to change the subject. "I heard from one of the staff that you had a... psychological breakdown."

Pershing flushed a fierce shade of crimson red. Any eye-contact that they had was immediately broken as the doctor averted his wide eyes to the ground. "I see."

The silence that followed was stifling. Din hadn't intended to embarrass the man. Fuck if _he_ knew how emotions worked... sometimes Din wished he wasn't so emotionally stunted. "I just wanted to ask if you're alright."

He couldn't see the doctor's facial expression, but he could hear the sharp intake of breath and a shaky sigh. "Fine. I'm fine. Um, who's the one who told you that?"

An odd question. "One of the ugnaughts. I didn't catch his name. Why?"

"Nothing. It's fine. I'm fine."

It was very obviously not fine. But Din had at least picked up something regarding manners in his many years: it's not polite to pry. "Why were you so upset?" That, of course, didn't mean he knew how to keep his mouth shut, though. He already knew the answer, of course, but he still felt perhaps it would be better to hear it from the source...

"There wasn't a reason."

The reply was as immediate as a bullet and as sharp as a dagger. There was something in Pershing's tone that made him want to retreat, but being Mandalorian, surrendering wasn't exactly his forte. "There must be one."

"Why?" Pershing snapped. Their eyes met again. The doctor's face was still flushed, but his expression was angry and piercing. "Why does there have to be a reason? I was- I was just upset, okay? I don't remember it. And it's none of your business, you... you can't just pry like that. I don't like it, so don't."

_I don't like it. _It was the type of phrase a child victim of bullying would say to the perpetrator, and it would never work, because that was the point of bullying. To make them miserable.

But Din hadn't wanted Pershing to get upset. He definitely didn't want the child to make a sad noise, either; or frown up at him, like he just disappointed the entire galaxy. And honestly, he felt like he had.

And it's not like he could just apologise. Or... or well, he could, really, and he should, but he couldn't even remember the last time he so much as muttered those two forsaken words and he feared it would come out as awkward and forced, but- oh, it was too late, anyway.

In the time he took to think about his reply, Pershing had turned on his heel and left without Din even noticing.

_Damn you, Djarin. Learn to fucking speak._


	3. Hospital Pt 1

He didn't know what time it was or how long he'd been asleep for, but the Mandalorian was in the garden. The Mandalorian had _returned, _and there were books on his bedside table that definitely weren't there before.

The nurses tried to stop him, saying _you're too weak to be walking about _and _you'll just pass out again _and _what are you doing, you need that drip, you can't just take it out! _And his eyes were dark and his hair was sticky and there were new scratches on his arms. But still, he tucked in his gown and went to go see the Mandalorian.

Jad'futi stood just inside during the entire conversation. It was comforting, even if Peri felt it was a bit unwarranted. _I'm not a porcelain doll, _he thought bitterly. _I can take care of myself_.A month and then some of living on the streets had taught him _something_ at least.

But the conversation hadn't gone as well as he'd have liked. The Mandalorian - or, Mando, as he supposed he ought to call him - was pushy. Looking into private territory. Peri might've been a sad anxious man (as he was quite willing to admit) but he wouldn't go around talking about his feelings to save his own life.

Which... he supposed, said a lot about him.

Jad'futi followed him to the cafeteria.

"You really should eat in your room," he said. "I don't think Dr Avry wants you to-"

_I don't care about what that Arkanian wants. _"I'm sure it'll be fine. I won't have anything that'll hurt my recovery." _I'm not scared of her._

"But if she finds out, I'm sure to be in trouble."

_Then make sure she doesn't found out. _"You'll be alright. I'll take the blame."

Peri was weak on his feet, and his legs felt like jelly, but that didn't stop his confident march to the cafeteria, or the dramatic way he pushed open the door. No heads turned. Good.

"Besides," Peri said, "I have the right to go wherever I please, as do all other patients."

"But you have to get _permission _to walk around, and-"

Peri pivoted on the spot. Jad'futi nearly bumped into him but managed to halt just in time. Peri placed a hand on the twi'lek's shoulder.

"Okay, then. Give me permission."

"What?"

"You're my nurse, so you can give me permission, yes?"

"W-Well, I-"

"You can."

"I suppose..."

"Good. Perfect."

Without another word, Peri turned back around sauntered to the counter. He only observed the Actual Food for a second before sadly averting his gaze to the soups.

"Wow, should I have the soup or the soup?" he sighed to himself. "They all look the same..."

"Couldn't agree more," said a new voice. Peri turned his head to stare at this person, and had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

"Sorry," the man sighed from his wheelchair, "I need to stop doing that."

The entire right side of his body was smothered in blistering red burns. The majority of his hair was gone, leaving only a quarter of his head with any hair at all.

"No, it's..." Peri swallowed, "Fine. It's fine. You're fine."

"You won't recognise me, but..."

The man held out a bandaged band, presumably for Peri to shake.

"I was one of the troopers," he said in a low voice.

Peri dropped the hand immediately. He stumbled backwards, only narrowly avoiding ramming into the person behind him.

"It's okay! It's okay!" the stormtrooper protested. "What, you think I'm in any sort of state to actually hurt you?"

"Could be a spy," Peri hissed. He turned to run, but the stormtrooper was quick, and the grip on his wrist was tighter than anything.

"Please, I'm sorry. I heard about everything that happened to you. I want to make amends."

Peri tried to tug his wrist away, but he was too frail and weak. The trooper was strong, even with the burns plaguing his body.

"I was there on the night the Mandalorian raided the facility."

"I don't care. Let go of me."

"Please, just let me talk. You know how we're made, right? How storm troopers are created?"

"I honestly don't give a shit. _Let go._"

Peri gave a great tug, and the trooper finally relented. The doctor fell to the floor with a loud thud.

Immediately, someone was holstering him up. Peri felt the touch of the lekku against the back of his head.

"I told you this would be a bad idea," Jad'futi sighed. "I'm taking you back to your room."

Peri grumbled under his breath. "Stupid confinements."

"I should never have let you leave. If Doctor Avry finds out about this..."

Once Peri was on his feet, Jad'futi immediately started dragging him towards the door.

"I can go wherever I please!" Peri protested.

"That's all well and good until you cause a scene!" the twi'lek hissed as he pushed open the doors.

"I wasn't _causing a scene. _You saw the trooper grab my wrist. He wasn't letting go."

Jad'futi stopped suddenly. Peri crossed his arms over his chest.

"Trooper?"

But before he could reply, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He yelped.

"_What are you doing out of bed?" _came the familiar hiss of the arkanian.

"Doctor Avry!" Jad'futi squeaked.

Peri shoved the hand off his shoulder. He turned to face the doctor with a frown.

"I-"

"Where is your _drip_?!" she screeched. "Are you fucking insane?"

"I don't need it!"

There was a great yell, and before he even knew what was happening, he was on the floor. The right side of his face stung like a needle, and he gasped.

"You are a _patient. _You will listen to _me. _You are a doctor of science, not medicine. Do what you are told, and go back to your room."

But he remained, sprawled on the ground, one hand touching the side of his face. He felt faint lines running across the side from nails that slashed his cheek.

She had slapped him. Then and there, without a second thought.

The execrable command of the arkanians truly had not been done justice by textbooks and recounts. Peri wanted to believe it would be an isolated incident, but...

He watched her march away, heels clicking on the linoleum flooring. He watched until she disappeared around the corner.

When he finally removed his hand, he saw the blood. A minuscule amount, but presented quite clearly on his pale complexion.

"I'm so sorry," Jad'futi breathed. "I'm so- I never expected that she might. After everything that happened to you, before..."

Slowly, very slowly, Peri pulled himself to his feet. With one last glance at his palm and a deep breath, he began to walk in the direction of his hospital room.

By the time he arrived, his raging thoughts had quietened down. But he wasn't feeling much better. His cheek stung and the blood on his palm had begun to stick. Jad'futi followed close behind, but he was silent and brooding, much unlike how he'd been previously.

When Peri pushed open his door though, all thoughts of the previous event left his mind at the sight of the Mandalorian sitting quietly on his bed with the child in his lap.

"Oh," Peri gulped. "Hi."

Mando looked up, and though Peri couldn't see his expression, he could identify the recoil in his posture.

"What happened to your cheek?" Mando asked cautiously. Any lace of concern was dulled by the modulation, but nonetheless, Peri could feel it was there.

"...I tripped."

"Those are scratch marks."

"I'm fine."

The baby whined then grabbed at Mando's chest plate, attempting to climb further up.

Mando sighed. "He's hungry."

"He's a baby, babies are always hungry." Peri walked around to the other side of the bed. He hoisted himself up onto it, then rested his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

His cheek still stung, and he knew it was bleeding, and that he'd need to clean it up. But he was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue.

"Except," he continued, yawning, "When it's actually time to feed them... then they act like food is the worst thing in the galaxy."

"You have experience?"

Peri turned his head so that he was staring right at the Mandalorian. Jad'futi had already left the room.

"If you're asking if I have kids, the answer's no."

Mando only hummed. "You've babysat, then."

He hesitated. Mando had reassured him multiple times that it was _okay, _that everything was _okay, _that he didn't need to apologise anymore. But... still.

"...when the Imperials asked me, yes."

Mando's helmet looked up, and suddenly, they were both staring at each other.

"The kid wasn't the only one you've had to _monitor_, then."

Peri swallowed. A knot formed in his throat, and his hands started to feel very clammy.

"It's not like I was allowed to say no."

"Right. Of course. Sorry."

They delved into an uncomfortable silence. While the Mando averted his gaze, to pay attention to the child, Peri found he couldn't look away. There was something there he hadn't seen before - but he couldn't quite place a finger on it.

The Mandalorian...

Was not what he'd been expecting. Then again, he wasn't sure what he was _supposed_ to expect. A silent, brooding man? Someone like the Moff, cold and calculating? Twice - _twice _\- he had been threatened by the Mandalorian. A cold gun shoved in his face. He recalled staring down the barrel, feeling his entire body go rigid with fear and uncertainty.

But actually talking to him?

He wasn't cruel. He wasn't a monster. He was a father, and a friend, someone you could trust to look out for you.

He brought books as gifts. Things about science and biology. While a lot of it wasn't exactly his field, it still... it still...

It made him feel warm. Gave him a feeling he couldn't quite describe, couldn't put words to. And as he stared at the Mandalorian bouncing the child on his lap, that feeling only intensified.

If he didn't know any better, he might've called it the beginnings of, well, a crush. But he _did _know better, he'd liked people before - too many people, really, it was utterly ridiculous - and even if it was... it's not like _that _would work out anyway.

"I met someone," Peri found himself saying all of a sudden. Mando looked back at him, and some strange feeling shot through Peri's chest. "A stormtrooper."

Immediately, the Mandalorian's entire posture changed. He changed from relaxed to stiff and alert in a matter of seconds, and the child made a sad confused noise.

"He was in a wheelchair, and covered in burns." Peri hummed. "He said that he was there the night you took the child."

Though he couldn't see Mando's face, he could tell Mando knew what he was talking about.

"Was that you? The burns?" Peri asked.

He wasn't sure why he was curious. It's not like that damn trooper mattered. He was a bastard, like the rest of them - he got what was coming for him.

There was a long stretch of silence. Mando didn't move at all, and if Peri couldn't see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, he might've thought he just up and died.

Finally, after what felt like hours, there was a static noise coming from the modulator that Peri could only assume was a sharp intake of breath.

"Yes," Mando breathed. "That was me."

Peri thought, for a moment, that he heard the Mandalorian's voice crack. Like he was choked up, emotional. But then he shoved that thought away, because that would be ridiculous.

"You have some sort of fire blaster?" Peri cracked an uncertain smile. "That's pretty cool."

"...Yeah."

A sudden wave of exhaustion rushed over Peri. He closed his eyes for a moment, and if he wasn't acutely aware of Mando staring at him, he would've fallen asleep then and there.

So he forced them open, as heavy as they felt.

"I have a question," he said. He felt the urge to yawn, but stifled it.

"Ask away," Mando sighed.

"Why did you save me?"

Silence. Then, "I don't know."

Peri closed his eyes again. Only, this time, he didn't reopen them. "I see," he muttered.

"I was running from the Imperials when I found you. You were just outside the old Mandalorian covert..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I had just suffered a major head injury. Maybe my _concussion_ told me to do it."

Despite the implication, Peri smiled softly. "I'm glad you got a concussion, then."

Then, after realising how terrible that sounded, he quickly added, "Not that I'm glad you got injured. I'm sure it was..." he yawned, "terrible."

"Well, I nearly died."

Peri's eyes snapped open. He brought his gaze back up to the Mandalorian, who was still, for some reason, staring.

"What happened?" Peri asked. When Mando didn't immediately reply he feared for a moment that he overstepped his boundaries, but then Mando heaved a great sigh.

"Moff Gideon happened."

Peri pushed himself up from the bed with a start. He stared at Mando, bewildered, with his eyebrows furrowed. "Pardon?"

"He tried to blow me up."

"I- _what?"_

"I was firing the repeating web blaster at some troopers, and-"

"_The what?_"

"-Moff Gideon shot at it and it exploded and I was flung into the air and landed so that it made a sizeable dent in my skull."

"Right, sorry, but, _you're alive? _You had a run-in with Moff Gideon and lived to tell the tale?"

Some strange static came from the helmet. After a moment, Peri realised it was a huff of laughter. An odd sound coming from someone so stoic, yet, strangely... comforting.

"When I come to think of it it really wasn't that difficult."

"No, no. You don't understand."

Peri hoisted his legs over the edge of the bed so that he was sitting up properly.

"You don't understand," he repeated. "You're a Mandalorian, yes?"

"...Last time I checked, yes."

"The Moff, he-"

Peri's throat tightened. A million thoughts began racing through his mind. _Should I tell him? Does he need to know? Is it really necessary? What would come of it? What if he gets mad? What if he's stupid enough to go after the Moff? What if-?_

He shut his eyes tight. He took a deep breath. Then, tried again.

"The Moff has the dark saber."

Complete, utter, silence. A silence unlike any of the others. Suffocating. Cold. The static of the world around them amplified to the hundreds.

It was like there were never any sounds at all, and for a terrifying moment, Peri feared his hearing had gone completely. But then he heard the Mandalorian's shaky inhale, distant yelling from another hospital room, and a small sad coo from the child.

"I killed him," Mando muttered. "I killed him. It's fine."

Peri furrowed his eyebrows, averting his gaze to the floor. "You say that, but did you actually see him die?"

He looked back up at Mando. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Many people have tried," Peri continued sadly. "And many thought they succeeded."

Mando shook his head. It was subtle, and if Peri hadn't been staring he would never have noticed.

"No," he breathed. "No. I killed him. His ship blew up, I saw- I saw-..." another shaky inhale, and an even shakier exhale. "I killed him."

Peri averted his eyes away from the Mandalorian and instead glared at his arms. They were so skinny. And so pale. Each scratch stood out like a saber in fog.

He tried to focus on the scratches. Count them. But he couldn't. Could barely get to double digits - not with the Mandalorian having an existential crisis in front of him.

He ran his finger over one of the scratches. It was an old one, he didn't remember where he's gotten it. He knew he had a habit of scratching himself in his sleep, but...

"He has to be dead."

That time, Peri could be sure he wasn't imagining it. The Mandalorian's voice was different. Emotional, choked. Like he was speaking from the back of his throat, as he tried to blink tears away.

It was amazing how much you picked up on when you couldn't see the other person's face.

"He _needs- _he needs to be dead. I can't have gone through all of that for nothing."

Slowly, Peri reached out his hand. He hesitated for a moment, glancing up at Mando to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. But Mando didn't make any moves to stop him, so Peri placed his feeble hand on Mando's gloved one.

He could feel the heat radiating through the glove. It was comforting, in a way. To feel that the Mandalorian was, in fact, a real person.

"Nothing happens for nothing," he said. "I don't know what happened, but... I-I can guess. The child is safer now. Right?"

"...Yes."

"So then it was for something. Even if- even if you lost more than you gained, at least you gained _something. _You'll get there in the end. I can promise you that."

The light reflected heavily off of Mando's beskar helmet, and as it moved, so did the light. It turned downwards, to look at his hand, then moved back up to meet Peri's eyes.

Then, all at once, Mando tugged his hand away and stood from his chair. It screeched against the floor, and the baby let out a small cry.

"You know nothing," said the Mandalorian. And he left.

Peri slumped back onto his bed. His cheek began to sting again. He raised his hand to touch the wound and winced when he brushed it harder than he thought he would.

"Stupid," he hissed to himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Everything in his life was stupid. Why did he even bother becoming a damn scientist? What did he really think would be in store-? Riches? Fame?

All he got was an inescapable contract with the Imperials and a shitton of anxiety.

"I would have to agree with that statement," said a female voice. "You're stupid."

Peri forced his eyes open. It was Dr Avry, standing in the doorway.

He thought, for a fleeting moment, that perhaps she'd come to apologise- but she only walked over to the drip with a foul frown. Peri sighed.

"Don't sigh. This is what you deserve."

She pierced the drip into his skin. He winced.

"Working for the Imperials. You thought I wouldn't find out? Pathetic."

Peri bit back an insult.

"Now, Peri Pershing..." the Arkanian was suddenly very close. She peered down over him, and for the first time Peri looked into her eyes.

Pure white. No pupils, nothing. Just a void of cold, dead white.

"Either you do what you are told, or your twi'lek friend will find out about your history."

_This is blackmail, _he wanted to say. _I can report you for this, and you'll lose your title._

Instead, he bit his tongue, and nodded.

"Good," the arkanian hissed. "I'm glad we reached an understanding."

With the drip back in his system, and an overwhelmingly unnatural drowsiness taking hold of him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. By the time he opened them again, the room was dark... and the Mandalorian was back in the chair.

He's been put under anaesthesia. Dr Avry must've slipped it in to his drip... for reasons he couldn't discern.

He felt dizzy. His head was light, and when he moved, the world spun. He scrunched his eyes tight, willing the feeling to go away.

But it didn't pass. He groaned, and tried to bring his hands up to his face, but found he was far too weak to do much of anything.

How long had he been out for? How strong was the anaesthesia?

It must've been hours. The world was dark, and the Mandalorian was asleep, along with the child.

Peri was... surprised. To see Mando return. After he stormed off earlier. he thought that he might not come back. But similar to the previous time... he did.

He kept coming back.

_Why?_

There was no way the man actually cared.

_That's stupid._

But what other reason could there be?

Peri was just... an Imp. That's all he was and all he ever would be. So _why? _Why was the Mandalorian bothering at all?

What was to be gained, by staying? He _knew _Peri was going to make a full recovery, and, yet, he stayed anyway.

If Peri had been a spy... if he were anyone else...

He shook his head, not willing to allow his thoughts to linger on that train of thought.

His cheek began to sting. He brought a very weak hand up to it, running his finger along the lines where the arkanian had drawn blood. He couldn't feel the dry stickiness anymore, so someone had cleaned the wound and sprayed it.

It couldn't have been Dr Avry. So it must've been Jad'futi.

Peri thought about the twi'lek for a moment. Young, wide-eyed, a bright future laid out for him. Innocent.

Naíve.

Unafraid of making the first move and speaking his mind... but timid and shy around his superiors.

He was undeniably attractive. As all twi'leks tended to be, really, so it didn't come as much of a surprise.

Peri feared for him. Certain people, especially the _Hutts._.. they take what they please and what they please usually consisted of beautiful twi'lek slaves. It was _disgusting. _The thought made bile rise to the back of Peri's throat, of someone being taken into captivity merely because of their _beauty._

And then, the deeper he delved into that train of thought, the more his thoughts strayed to something he was trying to push away.

Realistically... he knew that his own experiences couldn't even begin to compare to the decades of slavery and _prostitution_ twi'leks had been subjected to.

But...

Well. Perhaps it was best not to dwell.

* * *

The next two days were spent in his bed. The arkanian doctor no longer paid any visits. Jad'futi was the one to replace the drip and keep him company.

Peri had begun to regain his weight. Jad'futi was pleased about it, and Peri certainly _felt _better, especially if it meant he could have the drip taken out properly. He hated _needles. _That probably wasn't a good thing, given his chosen field, but... they made him queasy.

Or perhaps that was just the anaesthesia the arkanian doctor kept prescribing him.

On one hand, Peri was grateful for it. He'd never been a good sleeper, he had been permanently sleep-deprived since he was a teenager, and now, in his forties, he'd gotten the best rest he could even recall having. Ever.

But he didn't know why she was giving it to him. The second most likely scenario was to ensure he wouldn't cause trouble, which wouldn't surprise him in the least. The first most likely was that she just really didn't like the Imperials so she took the grudge out on him.

Which... though he hated to say it, was fair enough.

Perhaps she thought him a spy. She had every reason to believe that, try as he might to prove otherwise.

Or, perhaps, she was just living up to the arkanian expectation: be a dick.

It was like she was a walking stereotype. In the few times Peri found himself being allowed to walk about he always found her yelling at one person or another. It seemed that _no one _liked her. And he was relieved to see it. At least he wasn't alone in his suffering.

Even with explicit permission from Jad'futi, though, he still was always reluctant to walk around. He didn't much feel like being slapped again, feeling her nails dig into his skin.

There was a bandage on the left side of his face. It covered it up well, but everyone Peri met seemed to immediately know what had happened to him, and they all gave him solemn sympathetic nods. Or they'd shake their head and grimace, whispering to their friend about _the poor bastard who crossed paths with Doctor Avry._

He couldn't help but wonder - how the everloving fuck did she even become a doctor in the first place?

Arkanians were susceptible to science professions. He knew this. But if she hated people that much, why did she decide to become a doctor?

Peri wouldn't be surprised if half of her physical patients ended up in the psych ward. Truthfully, Peri wouldn't be surprised if _he _ended up in the psych ward. Not necessarily because of her, but, perhaps she would be a contributing factor.

The Mandalorian was ever-present. And so was the child. They'd developed something of a routine. In the mornings, Peri would wake up in the morning for breakfast (soup), and the Mandalorian would be there. At noon, Mando would leave for lunch, while Peri ate his (more soup). Then finally, in the evening, Mando would put the child to sleep as Peri had dinner (which was, as a surprise to no one, soup).

One time, after the child was put to bed and Peri had finished his dinner, he asked if the child was eating enough.

At first Mando seemed to be taken aback.

"What?" he asked.

"The child. Surely you're not only feeding him once a day?"

"I feed him when he asks to be fed." His helmet tilted to the side as though he were confused. "Which is once a day."

Peri bit his lip. He mulled over his thoughts for a moment, not taking his eyes of the child who was situated in Mando's lap.

"How does he ask?"

"He... babbles? Gets my attention? Cries, sometimes?"

Slowly, Peri reached over to the child. He glanced up at Mando, asking for permission to touch him. Mando tensed for a moment, seemingly weighing his options, before nodding reluctantly.

So Peri grabbed the child around the torso and lifted him off of Mando's lap, slowly weighing him in his hands.

"He's very light," Peri hummed.

"He's small."

"Yes, but... newborns are heavier than this."

The Mandalorian shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Am I not feeding him enough?"

"Well..."

Peri placed the child on his lap, feeling around the small coat he was wearing. He didn't want to lift it up, in case that would be crossing a boundary that shouldn't be crossed.

"He's skinner than when I last had him. Which was about a month ago. I wouldn't say it's dangerous, but... I think you should feed him at least three times a day, whether he asks or not. He won't grow properly otherwise."

Peri handed the child back over. Mando took him and placed him gingerly back on his lap.

Peri sighed wistfully. "Other than that... he seems healthy. And happy." He brought his gaze up to the Mandalorian's visor, hoping he was looking into the man's eyes. "You take good care of him."

Suddenly, Peri's breath hitched. His chest felt tighter, and his eyes widened. He and Mando stared at each other, uninterrupted by any outside noises. It was like they all filtered out, or like the entire world had stopped.

_Anxiety?_

The door banged open, and the illusion was broken. There, in the doorway, stood a knee-height furry creature holding a crutch in her left paw and not wearing any clothes. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath before she dashed into the room and crawled under the bed, taking the crutch in with her.

"What-?"

"_Don't ask questions!_" she hissed, before going quiet. Peri and Mando shared a confused glance.

Then, a nurse burst into the room holding a small hospital gown. "Is- is she in here?" she wheezed.

"...What?"

"The... the short, furry... oh, nevermind." The nurse turned to leave with a huff.

As soon as the nurse's footsteps were no longer within earshot, the creature crawled out from under the bed. She turned to the two of them with her right paw on her hip and her left clutching the crutch.

"Sorry! They're forcing me to wear clothes. Can you believe them?"

"...Truly shocking," Peri remarked.

"I know. It's terrible. I'm Mio, by the way." She held out a small furry paw. Peri shook it reluctantly.

"You're a Mandalorian, yeah?" Mio turned to Mando with a grimace. "I can't imagine wearing that bucket on my head all the time. Terrible for the fur, you see. Doesn't your hair get knotted? I would gladly brush it for you someday."

She spoke at a hundred miles an hour, not even stopping for a breath. Peri wondered briefly if she would collapse, but instead, she kept rambling.

"Oh, you're the starved guy they brought in, right?" she turned back to Peri. "Damn, they really cleaned you up. When I first saw you I thought, oh, that hair looks like a rat's nest... and I _really _wanted to fix it for you, but they wouldn't let me close. Shame they cut it so short... you'd look nice with hair down to your shoulders, I reckon I could make that work for you. How long you staying, then?"

Peri gaped at her. He had to take a moment to catch up with the whirlwind of words being thrown at him. After a moment, he swallowed. "Um. I've only got a few days left."

"Ah." Mio shook her head. "Pity. I mean, not a pity, because you've recovered, obviously, but I'd like to spend some time with you! If you'd allow me. I'm trying to befriend everyone here, but they're all really reluctant for some reason. They keep telling me that I should _slow down... _I can't imagine what they mean by that. Do you?"

Peri shook his head. "Not... at all. Uh, truly."

"Right? It's ridiculous. Some people, I swear. I know I'm short and _maybe _I run my mouth off sometimes but that's no reason to treat me any differently! You agree, yes?"

"...Yep."

"Right?!"

In all his forty years, Peri had never met someone so unapologetically enthusiastic. He had a feeling the Mandalorian hadn't either, given his blatant silence and stiff posture.

"And- oh, goodness!"

Suddenly Mio was rounding on the child on Mando's lap. Immediately, the Mandalorian brought the kid up to his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around it.

"Oh, he's so ugly! I love him! So green, and bug-eyed. He reminds me of Master Yoda!"

Peri's heart dropped to his stomach.


End file.
